


Two Truths, One Lie

by Robin_Mask



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Robin_Mask
Summary: There was only one certainty:One of them was lying.Neither option appealed to Pepper or Gwen. The truth was that either Tony was a rapist or that Peter was a liar, but it was impossible to believe either scenario to be true. Everything would change. It took only one accusation to ruin the lives of all involved, as a desperate search for the truth began before it was all too late.





	Two Truths, One Lie

_Bruce watched alone._

_He leaned against the doorway, as he waited for the conversation to end. The room was cold and a chill brought goosebumps to his arms, while he leaned against the doorframe and lifted his glasses just enough to rub the bridge of his nose. The laboratory was alive with holographic projections and whirring monitors, while Tony and Peter stood at a far desk that was loaded with prototypes and various pieces of equipment. They looked busy._

_Peter was scrambling to pull on an old jacket; he sniffed loudly, while his eyes looked bloodshot and cheeks looked flushed, and Bruce noted how he stood half-hunched, while Tony squeezed at his shoulder and leaned down to whisper to him. Tony appeared pale. There was a tremble to his lip, while his eyes glistened and his muscles appeared tense, and Bruce noted the distance . . . neither one willing to step close, neither one willing to part ways . . . it was awkward, as if cold words had been spoken or mistakes made._

_Bruce ran a hand over his face. He opened his mouth to greet the pair, but Peter snatched his rucksack from his floor and ran across the laboratory to the open doors. He pushed past Bruce, knocking him back a few steps, and dove into the elevator where he slammed repeatedly over and over at the buttons with loud sniffs. Bruce quirked an eyebrow, as he turned and reached out with an outstretched hand, but Peter was already gone._

_The doors closed, hiding him from sight, as Bruce teased:_

_‘Something I said?’_

* * *

“I’m telling you that he was coming onto me.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. It took all her self-control to hold back a sigh, as she took the two mugs of coffee from the counter and walked across the room. The soft carpet was good to the touch, as her bare toes curled on the fabric, and the steam from the mugs warmed her hands and looked beautiful as it curled and danced on the air around them. Tony took his mug and slumped down onto an armchair not far from her. He looked exhausted.

He held the mug between parted legs, as he swirled the black liquid. There was a pressure to his jaw, which pursed his lips into a tight line, while his eyes and cheeks grew lines that only deepened with the force of his emotion. Pepper sat down on the sofa; she sipped at her coffee, while folding her legs beneath her, and watched the dozens of emotions flit across his features, until he looked lost in some inner conflict. The brown locks of hair were mussed and a little greasy, while black bags appeared under his eyes. Pepper asked:

“Why would he come onto you?”

Tony smiled for the first time since the conversation began. He reached out to her with a socked foot, where he nudged her leg and winked with exaggerated effect, and she smiled despite the situation as he pulled back to point at himself with a free hand. It was the typical bravado and feigned confidence used to keep people at a distance, although still somewhat charming to witness, and she saw – underneath the smirk and glistening eyes – the deafening insecurity and complete fear. Tony took a swig of hot coffee and wildly gesticulated.

“Hello?” Tony said. “Genius, playboy –”

“– billionaire, philanthropist.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “Yes, I am _well_ aware of your credentials, Tony.  It’s just that Peter’s a high-school student, one I’m _pretty_ sure is dating Gwen Stacy, and while I know many grown women aren’t immune to your charms . . . I don’t see the appeal to a kid dating a potential prom queen. You sound a little vain.”

“Oh, just a _little_ vain?”

“Okay, maybe a _lot_ vain,” laughed Pepper. “Seriously, though?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It was just _awkward_. We were there discussing the latest changes to his suit, when he starts telling me some sob story about some Skip guy, and it starts to worry me, as he’s getting – like – _really_ upset and I can’t work out why, but before I can even ask him what happened . . . _bam_. He leans up to kiss me. I push him back and ask him what the hell he’s doing, then Bruce appears and Peter just freaks out.”

Pepper sighed. The tablet on the coffee-table was still turned on; she pulled it close to her and onto her lap, and – as she flicked through the security footage – she cursed that Tony always forbade constant surveillance on the R&D floors unless one of them gave J.A.R.V.I.S. an explicit order to record. That soon changed. Pepper noticed now that cameras ran _everywhere_ , even at the risk of potential viruses or infiltration that could lead to ideas being leaked or stolen. A few even worryingly ran in bathrooms or storage rooms. Pepper asked:

“Do you want me to talk to his aunt?”

Tony shrugged and looked to the windows. The city beyond was alive with millions of lights, so that a smile was brought to the corners of his mouth, and she could see how the lights caught the sheen of his eyes and brought them an intense sense of colour. Pepper hummed in contentment, as she stood and walked over to him, before tapping his hands out of the way and sitting on his lap. Tony chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, as he asked back:

“Do you think that will help?”

“If he’s coming onto middle-aged men, it’s something she ought to know about.” Pepper furrowed her brow with a sigh. “I don’t think it’s a secret that Peter’s bullied at school, so I think it could be worth talking to Gwen and maybe Mary Jane. It could be that this Skip said or did something to upset him, maybe that’s what triggered this episode?”

“Yeah, I guess,” muttered Tony. “It was just so _weird_ , you know? Like, here’s this kid all mature and on top of things, but then suddenly he’s babbling about some Skip and magazines and just wanting to be wanted, then it’s all ‘sitting in a tree’ as he’s trying to give me CPR.”

“I’ll talk to May. Just don’t be too hard on him, Tony?”

“I guess it was just a one-off.”

Tony knitted his eyebrows together, even as Pepper took his mug from him. It took only a second to place both mugs onto the table, next to the tablet, and – as she saw the images of the empty R&D floors – it was easy to see Tony’s concern. A recording of their meeting would have answered any questions, maybe explained what went wrong, and would have given her an objective viewpoint of the incident. Tony let out a long groan and muttered:

“He does know we’re dating, right?”

The question was all too innocent. Pepper picked up on the genuine curiosity, as if he sought to make sense of the nonsensical, and – stroking at his hair – placed a chaste kiss to his cheek and rested her forehead on his with a saddened smile. The skin was cool and clammy, while he refrained from his usual flirtations and teasing comments, and she couldn’t help but run her hands further through his hair, as she massaged his scalp and listened to his murmured sounds of contentment. Pepper pressed a kiss to his nose with a smile.

“It’s a crush, Tony. It happens.”

* * *

Gwen collapsed onto the bed.

A beam of light shone through the gap in the curtains; it illuminated a streak across her body and his in turn, so that the white of her lab coat shone almost luminescent, while Peter’s thick grey jumper looked strangely black despite the light. The bedroom was warm. It was the one benefit to such a small space, filled with various electronics and littered with clothes and stray pizza boxes, and the bed – although lumpy and old – was comfortable for a brief rest.

The bed shook with the force of Peter’s sobs. He pulled his legs up high, with feet rested on the edge of the mattress, and wrapped his arms around his chest, while Gwen – swallowing back the lump in her throat – turned her head to look at him. The shock coursed through every nerve in her skin, while her eyes blurred with unshed tears. He looked pale. Those usually blue-green eyes were bloodshot and puffy, while tearstains marked his cheeks, and each breath was wracked and choked and loud. Peter’s lips trembled.

Gwen reached for his hand.

He visibly flinched and yanked his hand back. Gwen pursed her lips, as a tear fell from the corner of her eye, while Peter started to hyperventilate with choked gasps of air, and – as she slowly sat upright – he caught sight of her and his expression changed. He laughed a broken and awkward sound, as he rolled onto his side in a foetal position. Gwen wiped at her eyes with a sad smile, no longer caring if her mascara ran or her foundation streaked, and instead reached back for him and took his hand. It was clammy to the touch. Gwen whispered:

“He _raped_ you?”

Peter squeezed at her hand. It broke her to see him so fragile . . . vulnerable . . . he refused to change from his clothes, while his phone continued to buzz on his desk with dozens of calls from Mary Jane and Pepper and Coulson. Gwen looked to the bedroom door; it moved just a fraction of an inch, with a visible creak of the hinges, and Gwen sniffed loudly to realise May likely listened in horror. No one expected such a revelation. Gwen arrived the second May rang in a panic, desperate for someone to talk to Peter, but this was beyond all expectations.

Gwen listened to small cries beyond the door, while Peter shook his head over and over in a desperate desire to shake whatever memories lingered in his mind, and – as Gwen squeezed at his hand – he wept in earnest until the tears ran dry in his eyes. He held so tight that small bruises appeared on her skin, while she clasped another hand around his and pulled them tight to her lips, where she pressed a light kiss. Peter choked out in panicked breaths:

“I – I – I was just – I didn’t –”

“Hey, deep breaths,” said Gwen. “You’re safe now.”

“We – We were talking.” Peter let out a shuddered breath. “He – He asked me about our relationship, s-some really inappropriate stuff, and we – we got – we got t-talking about Skip and . . . and what happened . . . he said it didn’t always have to hurt. I – I tried to push him away, but . . . I didn’t want to hurt him, but I didn’t think it’d go that far.”

“What happened next, Peter?”

“I – I blacked out. I just remember the pain and the – the – the _touches_. I kept thinking back to Skip and how he told me that it was just what friends did, like . . . how they showed love. I – I never thought I’d have to live through that again! I never thought Tony would . . . a-anyway, I got dressed and Tony p-put his hand on my shoulder, told me it’d just be our secret, and Bruce appeared in the doorway. I – I took that as my out. I ran.”

Gwen jumped as May appeared in the doorway. A lock of grey hair fell out of place, while she held a handkerchief to her lips and drew in choked gasps of breath, and Peter – holding ever tighter onto Gwen’s hand – continued to silently sob. Peter’s hair was still damp, while the clothes he wore were obviously still those from the attack, and she furrowed her brow to realise the likely sweat-soaked clothing would only make him feel dirty again. Gwen watched as he scratched and slapped at himself, as she whispered in a trembling voice:

“Do you want to maybe go to the hospital?”

Peter let go of her hand and pulled himself upright. He hunched over, as he wrapped his arms around his legs, and hugged himself so tightly that his knuckles turned white and the creases of his jeans imprinted on his forehead. Gwen listened to him whine over and over one simple word . . . _‘no, no, no, no, no’_. . . tears fell from her eyes, as he started tugging and yanking at his clothing, gasping for breath, and jumped to his feet with hands buried in his hair.

“I just want a shower,” murmured Peter.

“Peter, Aunt May said you’ve been in the shower since you came home.” Gwen winced. “We’re worried about you. No one is going to make you go to the police, but if – _if_ – you change your mind . . . we need to preserve as much evidence as possible. If there’s anything internally, we need to make sure the police have that on hand. If we just –”

“No,” muttered Peter. “No! I – I’m not – I’m not having people poking and prodding there, like – like I’m _still_ . . . still . . . it was bad enough when they did it to me, but I’m supposed to let _strangers_ have a go, too? I – I can’t. I just can’t. No. I want to forget.”

“Peter, I promise you that –”

“I just want to forget. I want to forget.”

Gwen wiped at her tears, as Peter collapsed to his knees. May shared a look with her, with lips parted and eyes opened wide, and – as the two women stood silent and still – it was clear that this was something that would require a great deal of time and therapy to overcome. The choked sobs from Peter grew louder and louder, until he began to claw at his hair and yanked out small clumps, and May could only fall to his side and pull him close for a tight hug, wrapping his arms around him so that he could no longer hurt himself . . .

Gwen wept into her hands. It would only take one phone call to her father to instigate an investigation, but Peter struggled to so much as hold her hand or allow May to touch him . . . hours spent in the shower, cries howled until his throat bled . . . a part of her knew he wouldn’t survive a formal investigation. Gwen shook her head, as she bit into her lip until she tasted iron. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She was helpless. _Helpless_.

* * *

“He – He accused me of _what_?”

Tony stumbled back against the table. The music in the laboratory blared at an obnoxious level, so that every word had to be shouted to be heard, and – with a snapped and cold command to J.A.R.V.I.S. – the music soon quietened to a bearable level. Pepper drew in a deep breath, as she sought to slow her racing heart, but all she could hear was her pulse pounding in her ears, as she clutched hard at the folder in her hands.

Tony appeared less furious and more betrayed. He pressed a hand to his chest, where he scratched at the keloid scar beneath his t-shirt, and – with a breathless gasp – let out a weak laugh and shook his head with a shrug. Pepper pressed her lips into a thin line. He may have sought to play off his devastation as puzzled indifference, but his lips trembled and his eyes hardened. Those usually dark cheeks turned a horrible shade of white, while he flicked a strange tune with his hand on the desk behind him. He laughed again and rapidly blinked.

“I need a drink,” muttered Tony. “Do you want a drink?”

“You’re not having a drink, Tony.”

Pepper slammed the folder onto the table. Tony stared across the room to a small refrigerator, where a ‘just in case’ bottle of beer was likely stashed, and – as his eyes filmed over with sheen of water – she saw how he swayed just slightly where he stood. The accusation was enough to push him off the wagon, while already he was jumping from foot-to-foot as he gnawed at his lips with strange hisses of breath. He spun around and reached out for a screwdriver. A small device sat before him, whose purpose was hard to decipher.

“You don’t mind if I work, right?” Tony asked. “No? Awesome. You know, Peter was _totally_ working on the key component for this, but I guess he won’t he be coming back, will he? It’d be weird if he did. I know _I_ wouldn’t come back. I just – I needed him, but I guess that’s life, isn’t it? You win some, you lose some. What can you do?”

“Tony, I don’t know why he’d make an accusation like this, but I know that it must hurt like crazy and you have _every right_ to be pissed. Hell, _I’m_ pissed and I’m not even the one he’s making these baseless accusations about! It’s okay to get angry, Tony.”

“I’m not angry. Do I look angry? A little green and hulky?”

“This isn’t a joke. This is a serious –”

Tony slammed down the screwdriver. It knocked over a small pile of screws, which rolled over onto the tiled floor with a loud clatter that sounded almost like rain, and – as he kicked at them, sending them hurtling across the floor – Pepper caught a stray tear in his eye. He blinked over and over, until the tear soon vanished, but the lump in his throat was swallowed back with such force that she heard the audible gulp. Tony hunched over and muttered:

“He’s like a son to me, Pepper.”

Pepper screwed shut her eyes, as she tried to block out the world around them. It wouldn’t be long before S.H.I.E.L.D. were alerted to events, while Steve and T’Challa would want to hear both side of events, and – even without the police involved – it was only a matter of time before the media caught wind of the accusations. Pepper walked over to Tony and rested her hands on his shoulders; tension turned the muscles to stone, as she tried to work out the knots deep beneath the skin, while she felt every wracked breath and choked sound.

“Does he know how you feel?”

“I thought he knew,” muttered Tony. “My – My father always tried to get rid of me. . . _‘no time today, Anthony’, ‘go play over there, Anthony’, ‘take him away, Maria’. . ._ he never told me he loved me, never even told me that he _liked_ me, and the happiest day of his life was shipping me off to boarding school. I always thought maybe he was right, that I was just a waste of space, plus it’s not as though I ever had kids of my own, you know?

“I always kind of regretted the miscarriages, but – honestly – I was also always a little relieved, because I was just grateful that I wouldn’t have a kid to fuck up the way my parents fucked me up, and then Peter came around . . . he’s quirky, intelligent, looks up to me . . . I’ve never had someone I could teach or work with or just _bond_ with. It was nice.”

“Oh, Tony, I’m so sorry . . .”

“I was good to him, wasn’t I?” Tony ran his hands over his face. “I got him his own suit. I let him get in on all our battles. I gave him unlimited access to my lab! I thought I was doing everything a dad ought to do, but then he – he makes an accusation like _that_! I mean, come on, my dad was a cold-hearted bastard, sure, but even _he_ -!”

Tony spun around with head hung low. Pepper wrapped her arms around him, as she rested her head on his shoulder, and – looking beyond him to the desk – she spotted a small present badly wrapped in childish wrapping paper. It was easy to forget that Peter’s birthday was just a few short days away, but Tony appeared to keep the present just within a close reach. Pepper drew in a deep breath and pulled back to place a kiss to his chapped lips, before she pulled back with tears gathering in the corners of her eyes with a saddened smile.

The silence between them was awkward, enough that the sound of her racing pulse echoed a terrifying rhythm, and – as she strove to calm down – she pulled back just enough to glance around the laboratory, where half the working space was clearly still left exactly as Peter left it with half-finished experiments . . . a part of him still lingered. A few school reports sat on one counter, while a half-full bottle of chocolate milk sat balanced on a shelf. Pepper said:

“Clearly, he’s a little . . . mixed up.”

“He’s accusing me of _rape_.”

“Okay, so let’s talk about that.” Pepper blinked away tears. “Did you do _anything_ that he might have misconstrued? Did you touch him in any way? Did you ask him anything? It might just be some kind of misunderstanding, Tony. I imagine it’ll all be cleared up with a few simple words and a genuine conversation. It’s probably nothing.”

“I don’t know, Pepper. We were talking about how to improve the elasticity of the webbing, to improve his suit, and then I was teasing him about MJ, when he mentioned Skip and something or other from his past, and then he just got really upset.”

“And that was it? Nothing else?”

Tony threw a hand high in the air, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was an exaggerated gesture, only made more melodramatic by how he dropped his hand and threw back his head, and – as he muttered some incoherent rambling – Pepper caught how a tear ran from the corner of his eye into his hairline. It was difficult to pretend she hadn’t seen it, even as she turned around and fussed about with tidying the laboratory, but she listened to each hissed noise that came every time Tony tried to sniff away another choked sob.

“I think I touched his shoulder or something?” Tony furrowed his brow. “I probably told him that he was still loveable, while anyone would be lucky to have him, and all that usual emotional mumbo-jumbo, and then that’s when he tried to kiss me.”

“And you pushed him away?”

“Of course I pushed him away,” spat Tony. “He’s just a kid.”

Pepper nodded. A hand lingered over a science textbook, where a few scattered notes were written in the margins, and she smiled to see how the handwriting alternated between Tony and Peter until sometimes entire conversations were exchanged. It was difficult to envision how one could intentionally hurt the other. Pepper let her smile fade, as she wiped at the corner of her eye with the soft pad of her thumb. The phone in her pocket buzzed as someone demanded attention, while the alarm on the wall alerted her to an upcoming meeting.

“I’ll talk to May, Tony,” said Pepper. “We’ll work this out.”

* * *

“He won’t leave his room,” whispered Gwen.

Gwen glanced to the clock on the mantelpiece. The minute hand moved a fraction of an inch, marking down the seconds until the end of May’s shift, while a list of emergency numbers sat pinned to the mirror just behind the clock. Gwen turned and looked Pepper over, where she sat gracefully on the edge of the sofa, and – with a loud sigh – she watched as Pepper smoothed the pleats of her skirt and placed a manicured hand on the briefcase beside her.

The fireplace roared with crackling wood, while dark shadows were thrown about the lounge, and Gwen folded her arms and looked to the staircase, where she bit into her lip and fought the urge to ask Pepper to leave. Gwen sat on the sofa opposite, where she sipped at her tea and let the ceramic warm her hands. There were a few sounds from above. A creak of a floorboard and a bang as if something were dropped, and Gwen winced as she stared upward to the ceiling, before she shook her head and asked in a low voice:

“Do you really think he’s lying?”

Pepper let out a long sigh. Gwen watched as she clicked open the briefcase, before she pulled out several files and documents, and – on a quick and covert glance – Gwen saw that they were various reports about Peter . . . _school grades, medical results, police statements_. . . it appeared the information went as far back as his childhood years, where Skip first abused him. Pepper rested her fingers on top of the papers. The look in her eyes was stern and her lips were pressed into a tight line, which may have intimidated a lesser person.

Gwen wrapped her arms tighter around her chest, as she clenched her hands and tried to still her racing heart, but – as she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes – she felt an intense sense of betrayal unlike any other . . . they didn’t believe Peter. A hard lump formed in her throat, as she lowered her head and rapidly blinked. Pepper moved on the sofa, where she tapped lightly at her pile of papers and cleared her throat, before she admitted:

“No, I don’t think he’s lying.”

“So how can you support Tony?” Gwen asked in a cold voice. “Peter won’t stop showering! He hasn’t eaten in days, while any time we go to touch him -? He just – he just _freezes_ , as if we’d hurt him or do anything to upset him. That isn’t something you can _fake_ , Pepper. You can’t fake tears and nightmares and panic attacks! He’s hurting. He’s hurting bad.”

“Okay, but he says he disassociated and blacked out. Do you really not think he’s maybe just filling in the blanks, unable to get over an old trauma? I’m not saying he’s lying, as such, but just that something more is going on here. Tony is _devastated_ by all this, too.”

“Good, so he should be. It shows he has a conscious.”

“I don’t think it’s guilt,” answered Pepper. “I think it’s depression. He _trusted_ Peter. Do you know how often Tony opens up to a person? It’s rare. He would rather drink himself into oblivion or spend weeks with no sleep on various experiments or just endure the flashbacks on his own, and he _has_ trauma, so he _has_ empathy. He was kidnapped by terrorists, Gwen.”

Gwen winced. It was not easy to forget the footage from those years ago, and – even at her young age at the time – she remembered the expression of a man only existing, not really living, as he stepped off a plane with an expression not quite there. No one could understand those three months spent under the thumb of terrorists, but equally there was no real way to understand having one’s mentor and father-figure forcing them into sordid acts. Gwen spat:

“You can’t compare two different traumas.”

The wind picked up outside. A loud howl rattled the single pane of glass on the front door, while someone drove past the house and honked a horn, and Gwen screwed shut her eyes to think of previous days, when Peter would race outside to catch Sam or MJ or Ava. It took all her strength to look past Pepper to the window, where the sun shone despite the clouds, and a part of her wanted to run to Peter and tell him to fetch his camera, but lately his camera started to gather dust . . . a lost relic in a room now a prison cell.

“You’re right,” said Pepper. “Every trauma is unique.”

“Why would he make something like this up?” Gwen asked. “He doesn’t stand to _gain_ anything from this, Pepper. He’s competing with me for the spot of valedictorian, while he’s the hero of every kid out there, and he’s been taught his whole life ‘with great power comes great responsibility’. He still blames himself for Ben’s death, so why would he actively try to ruin someone else’s life?” Gwen clenched her fists. “I just think you need to back off.”

“Tony says that Peter leaned up to kiss him. It could be a sense of rejection, maybe? It’s not uncommon for some women to make false accusations when they feel rejected, and there’s no way that Tony would have ever reciprocated to someone as young as Peter. He’s not even gay, Gwen, let alone interested in someone under the age of consent.”

“Are we really resorting to _victim-blaming_ here? Are you saying he _deserved_ it, too, that he asked for it, maybe? Look, I _know_ Peter never came onto him, but even if he did -? There’s such a thing as ‘stop’ and ‘no’ and ‘enough’. If Tony didn’t hurt him, who did?”

“I don’t know,” said Pepper. “Did anyone?”

Gwen stood up. The accusation hung heavy in the air, as she pressed her lips into a thin white line, and it took all her strength to refrain from asking Pepper to leave, even as her pulse pounded in her ears and a dizzy spell overcame her. It was no longer quiet. Gwen heard the shower run from the bathroom above, while something smashed and a loud cry came forth, and every second with Pepper was a second unable to supervise Peter, who already lost so many pounds and bore so many self-inflicted bruises. Gwen swallowed hard and said:

“That’s pretty low.”

Pepper took the pile of papers and placed them on the table. Gwen snatched at them, where she saw that Peter’s track record at school was nearly perfect, although the past week marked a noticeable absence, but the pages on Skip’s attack were difficult to endure. There were photographs of bruises, along with DNA matches, and words that made her stomach churn to the point that she chucked the papers back onto the table with a flinch. Pepper asked:

“I haven’t seen any medical reports, have you?”

“He was too traumatised to see a doctor,” spat Gwen. “He didn’t want people looking at him with legs spread and bruises all over his skin. I can’t say I blame him. There’s no greater violation than a rape, and he already suffered so much with Skip, so to suffer that _again_ with the _one_ person you trust above all else -? It’s messed up. It’s just . . . it’s messed up.”

“Okay, well, did you ever see those so-called bruises?”

“So you’re calling him my boyfriend a liar.”

A noise from the stairs silenced them. Gwen spun around, shoulders tense and muscles tight, almost ready to snap at the first person she saw, but – with mouth dropping open half in guilt – she saw Peter at the bottom of the stairwell. He wore only an old shirt that looked like it belonged to Ben, while his hair was greasy and hung in streaks about his face, and his skin was so pale that the black bags under his eyes looked all the blacker.

Gwen struggled to hold back the tears, as she saw the tremor to his fingers. He looked so much thinner and so much smaller than previous weeks, while his lips were so chapped and dry that she almost wanted to force water down his throat, and he swayed where he stood with bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks. Pepper stood with a wince, as she rapidly collected the papers from the table and rammed them into her briefcase, before she raised her hands in mock surrender and avoided all eye contact. Pepper whispered:

“Peter, I’m sorry –”

“I thought you were asleep,” interrupted Gwen.

Peter raised a shaking hand. A smile played across his lips, but one so strained and broken that every tremble turned it into a grimace, and soon tears ran down his cheeks as he bent over and clasped at the railing with wracked sobs. Gwen rolled her eyes at Pepper, before she snatched up the briefcase and shoved it toward her with a curled lip. Pepper said nothing, even as she hurried toward the front door and kept her head low, while Peter gulped down large breaths of air and panted with squinted eyes. He choked out:

“What kind of monster would make this up?”

“Peter, I never meant to imply –”

“N-No, it’s fine,” muttered Peter. “It’s w-why I didn’t tell Aunt May about Skip at first, because he was my friend and everyone trusted him, but they did believe me . . . h-he was punished. I – I didn’t have to live in fear. I figured this might be the same. I could just _tell_ people and they’d understand, because I didn’t want Tony punished, but j-just . . .”

“Peter, it’s okay,” said Gwen. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I – I just wanted someone to _understand_. I didn’t want to have to go back and see him, because I shouldn’t have to live in fear like that, but now everyone’s blaming me and I see what they really think of me. I’m just – I’m – I’m just this – this – this _liar_. It doesn’t matter what I say, because Tony’s just beyond reproach, right? If I’d have known everyone would turn against me, I wouldn’t have said anything . . . I just wanted to feel _safe_.”

Pepper muttered an apology, as she headed outside. The expensive car was already running its engine by the time she opened the door, although a familiar man got out and closed the door for her once inside, and – within a few seconds – the car was out of sight. Gwen finally relaxed her body; she ran her hands over her face, while she simply listened as Peter wept, but on turning to face him . . . he turned away. The shame writ across his features was almost palpable, but it left her helpless to do anything to alleviate his pain.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I need to lie down.”

Peter turned and ran up the staircase. The shower could still be heard, even as he slammed the door to his bedroom shut, and Gwen glanced back to the list of emergency numbers, unsure of whether to ring someone or wait for the moment to pass. Gwen slid onto one of the steps, sitting alone as she buried her head into her hands. The clock ticked ever onward on the mantelpiece, as she stared aimlessly toward the front door.

Gwen blinked away the tears.

* * *

Pepper kicked at a stray bottle.

It rolled across various stains on the wet carpet. A few were obviously the remains of upturned cans of beer, others were the familiar deep red of wine, and others may as well have been bodily fluids of various descriptions. The stench was horrendous. It was difficult to imagine this was the same bedroom where they once made love and exchanged heartfelt confessions, and she half-considered calling Rhodey for moral support. Pepper asked:

“You broke your sobriety pact?”

There was a groan from the bed. Tony slowly sat upright, as bottles rolled from the sheets and landed onto the floor with a loud clatter, and – with a wince – she saw that there lay several pieces of glass along with what appeared to be blood. There was vomit matted into the side of his hair, while four long scratch lines ran down his chest. The blood on his nails betrayed his self-injurious behaviour. Pepper also noticed the extreme weight loss.

It was frightening to be able to count his ribs, while his pale skin looked ever more sallow and bruised by the minute, and his eyes were so bloodshot that the whites were barely visible, although the tearstains through the muck on his cheeks was evident. Pepper felt her stomach churn, as she bent down carefully to pick up the various remnants of several nights of drunken binges, before she tossed them into the trash-can in her other hand. A cold sweat forced her clothes to cling to her skin, as anxiety gave way to terror. Tony muttered:

“What does it matter?”

“It matters, Tony,” said Pepper. “Of course it matters!”

“Does it?” Tony laughed through his tears. “My stocks and shares are falling like crazy, while my own _teammates_ think I’m some sort of fucking rapist, and I can’t even go out in public – let alone on Avengers business – without people coming up to me to scream abuse. Okay, so I’ve not got charges pressed against me, but who needs a court of law when you have a court of public opinion? If this goes much further, I’ll be _ruined_.”

“We can run damage control,” said Pepper. “We can sue for libel. You don’t deserve to have the whole world against you just because Peter has some sort of grudge! If he’s mentally ill, we can get him help. If this is spite, he needs to be punished. I just don’t want to see you slipping away from me piece by piece, because you came _so far_ , Tony, and I –”

“I’m a monster, aren’t I? He wouldn’t have made these accusations unless I said something wrong, and now everyone else is saying the exact same thing . . . they’ve all taken his side, but it’s hardly a surprise when I’m just some asshole drunk, so why fight it?”

“You can’t let him win, Tony. You can’t.”

Tony collapsed back onto the bed. He rolled onto his side, almost in a foetal position, while he brought a pillow over his face and screamed into the soft feathers, with a sound so primal and broken that it brought tears to her eyes. Pepper soon filled the trash can. It would take two or three trips to empty the room, perhaps more, and then longer still to clean the carpets and tidy the general space. Tony soon stopped his screams, but she quickly glanced over his body in search of maybe something that might look inflicted in self-defence.

Pepper flinched with a deep stab of shame, as she realised that she doubted the man she loved, but more so to see him driven to the brink with false accusations, and she dropped the trash can to the floor as she pulled a trembling hand to her chest. It took all her strength to still the shaking digits, as she drew in deep breaths of humid air. Tony lifted his head just enough to make eye contact, even as he punched and prodded at the pillow. He muttered out:

“If only my dad could see me now.”

The words fell hollow and empty. Pepper turned her gaze away, so as to hide the tears that pricked her eyes, and instead looked to the few rare photographs that Tony kept in his private quarters, where she noted – even in death – one large portrait of his father stood proud. It was his approval and recognition that he craved, even when he was no longer there to give it, and instead those dead eyes watched him always through the cold glass. Pepper reached out and slammed the frame down, while she spun around and placed her hands on her hips.

“Tony, you can’t just –”

“It’s the look in their eyes, you know?” Tony licked at his lips. “I wouldn’t mind that fucking contempt if I did something to deserve it . . . you were pissed when I tried to sacrifice myself with the New York thing when Loki attacked, and Steve always called me out on my cocky bullshit, but this . . . how can I _change_ what I never _did_? I’m – I’m not a rapist. I’m not.”

“I know you’re not. No one’s asking you to admit to something you didn’t do.”

“No, they’re just asking me to ‘confess’ and ‘repent’.”

“Tony, you’re innocent until proven guilty. You only ever treated him with kindness and respect, and – sure – I know some people do groom and spoil their victims, but you _aren’t_ an abuser and it’s okay to be nice for the sake of being nice! You’re a good guy.”

“Good men don’t get lied about,” muttered Tony. “I – I just –”

Tony lazily pulled himself upright. He fumbled around the bedside until his hands landed on a half-full bottle of whiskey, where – with a curl of his lip – he swirled the contents around as if debating whether to return to his old crutch, but it was an inner conflict not long felt. He quickly brought it to dry lips and swigged over and over, until he was forced to pull the bottle away for oxygen, and soon the tears fell again. He wept. The tears were hard and fast, as he sobbed like a broken child, and it was all she could do to whisper:

“You’ve endured worse. You can endure this.”

“I don’t want to endure, Pepper.”

“Tony, please don’t –”

“I just want to stop _hearing_ their lies,” muttered Tony. “I’m starting to believe it! Any time I turn on the news, I start thinking . . . _did_ I touch him? I wonder if my hand lingered or if I looked at him too long or if I complimented him too much. I wonder and I –”

Tony looked back to the bottle. He crossed his legs, where the sheets did little to protect his modesty, and held the glass between his thighs where he tapped a drunken tune on the neck, before he collapsed back and let the whiskey spill over the bed. The bottle let out slow glugs until what little remained finally soaked into the sheets, and it took all her strength to stay standing, even as Tony remained oblivious or indifferent to the alcohol that stank out the room. Pepper lifted the trash can in one hand, as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Just leave, Pepper,” said Tony.

Pepper jumped as he threw the bottle. It smashed hard against the wall, where the pieces clattered to the floor with a tinkle of pieces, and the leftover whiskey ran down the wall like blood, as he let his arm drop over the side of the bed. Pepper closed her eyes and tilted back her head, as the tears ran down into her hairline. Every nerve screamed at her to wash him and change him and protect him, but even that felt impossible . . . Tony begged:

“Please, just go.”

* * *

May turned pale.

The phone fell from her hands. It clattered onto the floor, as she stumbled back towards the window and grasped at the sill with shaking hands, and – as she glanced back towards them – Gwen saw how her lips parted and her eyes widened. Peter remained curled on the armchair beneath the blankets, although he tensed and sat upright with hand half-outstretched towards her, even as she shook her head with a trembling smile. There was something wrong. Gwen stood and tried to control her racing heart, as she stared hard towards May.

“It – It’s Tony,” whispered May.

Gwen slowly walked over to May; the sun shone behind her, where it warmed her back and gave her a strange glow, and yet – from where Peter sat – she was likely cast in shadow, so that she was half-real and half-fantasy, while the words spoken were so low and broken that they were barely discernible. Gwen touched May’s shoulder. May flinched, before she let out a nervous out and then a stray tear. Gwen bit her lip, as she asked:

“What happened?”

May wiped at her eyes with her thumbs. Silence. May laughed that same nervous laugh, as she bent down to pick up the phone and rambled aimlessly incoherent words, before she busied herself tidying an already spotless living room. Gwen swallowed back her growing anxiety, as she cast a brief glance to Peter and ran to May, before she took a hold of the older woman’s shoulders and forced her to stop in her pointless busywork.

“What happened to Tony, Miss May?”

“He – He _died_ ,” whispered May.

Peter let out a loud cry. He clutched at the blankets about him, before he dragged them high to his chin and rocked back and forth, until May dropped a cloth in her hand and ran to his side, pulling him into a hug while she sat on the arm of the chair. Gwen stood still. The world around them carried on, while the clock ticked and the people on the television rattled on with some gossip or other, but something broke inside her . . . inside all of them.

A cold sweat broke over her skin. Gwen swayed and stumbled back, until the sofa struck the back of her legs and she collapsed onto its folds, and – staring at nothing – she angled her head upward and observed blankly the ceiling with half-focused eyes. Peter wailed. May struggled to hold him close, as he clawed at his head and ripped at his hair, and every shush and hummed song from her lips only added to his cries. Gwen blinked over and over, until she let her head loll to the side and watched as tears streamed down Peter’s cheeks.

“W-What – What do you mean? He – He – _how_ did –”

“Bruce says that Pepper left him alone last night,” said May. “He was drunk. No one thought anything about it, except maybe to arrange an intervention or make an appointment with his therapist, but he seems to have taken his car out for a drive . . . he crashed somewhere on Main Street. He ran through a red light. It – It was bad. He passed away some time an hour ago, but he wasn’t in any pain . . . Pepper could barely talk.”

“Do you think it was suicide?” Gwen asked.

“It’s too early to say. There wasn’t any note or video.”

Peter tossed his blanket to the floor. He was on his feet before May could pull him back, pacing and pacing and pacing, even as she tried to grab for him, and yet – each time – he would push her away and stumble out of reach. Gwen stood in turn. He was hyperventilating, with face contorted in some terrifying mixture of emotion impossible to decipher, as he yanked at his hair and scrunched closed his eyes. _Gasps of breath. Choked cries. High-pitched whines._ He was at breaking point. He forced out a breathless:

“It was suicide.”

Gwen walked around to him, but he was already running toward the staircase. He collapsed. He sat on the bottom step and threw his arms onto the upper step, where he buried his head into the crook of his arm, while Gwen panted for breath and looked desperately to May, who shook her head and clasped her hands over her mouth. A horrible sweat broke over her body, while a sensation of pins-and-needles ran over her flesh. Peter cried out:

“It was suicide, wasn’t it?”

“We don’t know that, Peter,” whispered Gwen.

“N-No, it was suicide.” Peter screamed into his arm. “I – I did that, didn’t I? It – It was my fault t-that my parents just left me, and i-it was my fault that Uncle Ben died, and n-now Tony is _dead_ because I – I – I couldn’t keep my mouth shut? If I didn’t say anything, the media wouldn’t have known and his reputation wouldn’t have been wrecked and I –”

“No. No, Peter! This is _not_ your fault! You didn’t do this.”

“I – I – I should – I shouldn’t have –”

Peter screamed. It hurt to hear. Gwen winced, as tears ran down her cheeks. Peter climbed further up the stairs, as he turned and sat properly, but even as he sat . . . he rocked. It was painful to watch. It was painful to hear. Peter grabbed at his hair while he parted his legs and bent almost in two, with wretched cries echoing forth until a line of saliva and mucus could be seen mixed with his tears. May slowly came towards him, wiping at his face and whispering kind words. He shook his head and pushed her away. May fell.

“I _worshipped_ him,” said Peter. “He was my mentor.”

“He was a sick man, Peter.” May struggled to her feet. “He can’t hurt you now. I can’t _imagine_ how this must feel for you, but we’ll get you to a therapist first thing tomorrow, so you can talk to someone, and – in the meantime – you have me and Gwen and Bruce –”

“Bruce was his best friend. Steve, Natasha, T’Challa, Happy –”

“Peter, it’s okay to grieve –”

“I-Is it? How – How are –?” Peter laughed even as he wept. “How will they ever be able to look me in the eye again? It’s _my_ fault he’s dead! What will happen to his businesses? What about his research? Who will be Iron Man now? The _world_ is going to grieve, while I – I – I just get on with my life and pretend like a man isn’t _dead_ because of me?”

Peter climbed to his feet. He braced his weight against the banister, while he gulped down air and wavered where he stood, and Gwen – gnawing at her lip – came to May’s side and placed her hands on those frail shoulders. May’s body was wracked with sobs, as she watched Peter fall to pieces before them. No one dared speak. No one dared move. Peter grasped so hard at the banister that his knuckles turned white, and he hunched forward with a curl of his lip and eyes so scrunched that they were almost shut. He spat out in devastation:

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

A heavy silence feel between them. Gwen reached out with a trembling hand, until he threw himself against the wall and shook his head with a bitter laugh, and – with eyes unfocussed and half-dazed – slumped down the wall until May slowly took a step towards him. He caught sight of her like a wounded animal. He ran. The last sounds Gwen heard were those of a slamming door and a scream primal and agonised, as he cried out:

“ _I shouldn’t have said anything_!”

* * *

_“Shit, not you too, Peter.”_

_Bruce dropped the phone onto the table. The laboratory was empty, even as Bruce watched the television screen buzz alive with various pieces of gossip, and – as a photograph of Tony flashed across the screen – he clawed at the tabletop with eyes screwed shut. He thought to May’s screams at the other end of the line, while Gwen babbled aimlessly, and realised that the funerals would only be a few days apart . . . perpetrator and victim._

_The adrenaline coursed through him . . . unable to tell the victim from the criminal . . . it was difficult to envision tarnishing the memory of either man, but despite both of them presenting him with their versions of the truth . . . he knew one lied. Bruce drew in slow and deep breaths, while the familiar prickling of rage flickered at the back of his mind, and he bit and chewed at his lips until he tasted iron. The tears stung. Bruce choked the air around him, as he glanced to Peter’s science textbook beside Tony’s half-finished blueprints._

_Two lifetimes’ worth of potential cut short._

_He thought to a graduation where an empty seat would mark a half-lost memory. He thought to a building whose large ‘A’ sign would hide a forgotten past. He thought to hearts broken and hearts mended, to laughter spent and tears spilled, and all the words he wished he could have spoken to both, even as he swore he could hear their voices lost in the empty laboratory that once teamed with life. They were gone and they would never return._

_Bruce wept alone._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Downfall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016375) by [ardett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett)




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